Silver Moon
by ManMadeGod
Summary: A young Nord woman with icy blue eyes, trying to accept her fate while running away from her haunted past. Is her will strong enough to carry her pain, or will she break along the way?
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello everyone! ManMadeGod here, with my very first story. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Also, I'll be keeping the main pairing as a secret for now ;) Reviews are appreciated!

This story is rated M for violence and adult themes in the following chapters.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my Dovahkiin Iona Silver-Fang. Everything else belongs to Bethesda.

Silver Moon-Prologue

* * *

She tried opening her eyes, blinking multiple times, trying to adjust her eyes to the bright sunlight. Her head felt as if it was splitting in half, her whole body aching from her earlier struggles and her awkward sitting position.

Wait.

She was sitting and moving. She opened her eyes, ignoring the daggers stabbing her brain and took in her surroundings.

She was on a cart with three Nord men; the brown haired one was clad in rags, the other two wore light armors. The man on her right had his mouth gagged. Their hands were bound.

Alarms went off in her head but there was nothing she could do; she was stripped off of her weapons and armor, had her hands bound and was in a really sluggish state.

She came eye to eye with the man sitting in front of her; he was a good-looking blond Nord with long hair, typical.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," he said with a slight smile. She couldn't smile so she nodded in return.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

She turned her head to the said thief, he looked the man near him in the eye and growled. "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell!"

Stormcloaks and Imperials. She wanted to slap herself real bad, not only did she got caught while she was trespassing but she also got caught in a political conflict that had nothing to do with her. She kicked herself inwardly, how could she be so stupid and careless?

As she was sulking, the thief nudged her with his foot. "You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloak the Empire wants."

The blond man threw him a dirty look. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

As the two stared at each other with annoyance, the Imperial Soldier riding the cart barked. "Shut up back there!"

After the command, the thief looked at the man sitting near her and asked in a hushed tone. "What's wrong with him, huh?"

The blond man shouted angrily at the thief. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!"

The thief, unfazed by the blond man's anger, looked at Ulfric carefully, narrowing his eyes. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" He stopped for a second, gulping. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you..." He panicked, fear obvious in his eyes. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"

The blond man turned his head to the dirt road ahead. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

The thief was visibly shaking now. "No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!"

She was just as scared, if not more, than him. She had been running away from death and now here she was, sitting in a cart with death clawing at the door.

She ran her bound hand on the two pink scars on her left cheek absentmindedly, trying to calm her nerves. Just as she lifted her head to her right, she came eye to eye with Ulfric Stormcloak. She didn't break the eye contact, they held each other's gaze. In the end, she couldn't take his deep blue crushing eyes anymore, so she averted her icy blue eyes to her feet.

* * *

She had been cradling her head between her bound arms as she heard the blond Nord speak. "Hey, what village are you from horse thief?"

The thief lifted his head and spat. "Why do you care?"

The blond Nord answered, too relaxed considering the situation they were in. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief looked down in shame, softly whispering. "Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

Another silence followed the conversation. Instead of panicking to death, she slumped in her seat and threw her head back, listening to the sounds the carts and horses made.

* * *

When she opened her eyes after trying to find inner peace and failing, she took in her new surroundings. The cart was pulling in to a small, fort-like village. She could observe a tower beneath the walls.

As they arrived to the gate, an Imperial Soldier saluted his superiors. "General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting."

General Tullius, as she heard, nodded. Good. Let's get this over with!"

They were pulling up to the village. She put her hands on her chest, searching for her beloved amulet, but it was taken along with everything she had on her.

Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh," whispered the thief, his voice wavering with fear. "Divines, please help me."

She bowed her head down and stared blankly at her bound hands. She was scared and she couldn't do anything to soothe herself.

When she lifted her head, she saw two figures on horseback. The male one was General Tullius, as she heard a while ago; near him was an Altmer woman, she sat on her horse gracefully, watching the passing carts.

The blond man narrowed his eyes, and sneered. "Look at him. General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him," He was hissing with venom dripping from his words. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

As they entered the village, the blond Nord looked around. "This is Helgen," He nodded to himself, as if to confirm his words. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in..." A nostalgic look passed over his features but it was quickly replaced with a look of sadness. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

A young boy, pointed at the passing carts and tugged at his father's sleeve. "Who are they, daddy?"

His father patted the young boy's head, turning him towards their house. "Go inside, little cub."

Little boy whined, protesting his father. "Why? I wanted to watch the soldiers!"

His father threw him a hard look, and raised his voice. "Inside the house. Now!"

The little boy turned and ran into the house, muttering an affirmative along the way.

* * *

As the cart came to a halt, the thief asked, with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Why are we stopping?"

The blond Nord answered him calmly. "Why do you think?" He took a deep breath. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting."

The thief was scared and beads of sweat were visible on his forehead. "No, wait! We're not rebels!"

The blond Nord frowned, his brows knitted. "Face your death with some courage, thief."

Ulfric Stormcloak slowly rose, indicating it was time to go. She also rose to her feet, hardly standing on her bruised legs.

The thief rose as well, shouting. "You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The blond man ignored his comment, hopping off the cart after her. As the thief left the cart as well, muttering something, a female soldier barked. "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

The carts near them were empty, each had a soldier with a scroll and quill in hand in front of them.

As she looked forward, she saw a built Nord man with a scroll and quill in hand, near him was the female soldier with a stern look.

The blond Nord sighed. "Empire loves their damn lists."

Ignoring the comment, the soldier lifted his head and shouted the first name. Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" the blond man shouted proudly.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the Nord near her smiled softly, winking at her. She couldn't do anything in return.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" the thief yelled. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" He started running and as he got past the female soldier, he laughed.

"Halt!" The female soldier shouted but he just continued running and laughing. "You're not going to kill me!"

The female soldier shouted in anger. "Archers!"

The thief's sprint of freedom was cut short as an arrow pierced him right between the shoulder blades. He fell face first on the dirt path.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the female soldier asked in annoyance. Silence greeted her words.

"Wait, you there," She looked at the male soldier with the list. "Step forward," She did as she was told, dragging her feet on the dirt ground.

He looked at his list, then looked back at her, a confused look crossing his features. "Who are you?"

She gulped, opened her mouth and rasped. "Iona Silver-Fang."

He eyed her and sighed. "You picked a bad time to come home, kinswoman," He turned towards his superior. "Captain, what should we do? Her name's not on the list."

The said woman was growing impatient. "Forget the list, she goes to the block!"

The soldier nodded. "By your orders, Captain," He turned his attention back to her, a sigh escaping his lips. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the captain, prisoner."

Iona was going to die. In her homeland, with people she didn't know. She wanted to try running as well. Maybe she would get lucky and succeed.

No.

She was a brave Nord woman, she would disappoint her ancestors, more importantly her parents if she were to run. They died fighting, with courage and honor. She would die with honor and join her parents; Sovngarde awaited.

She turned on the ball of her right foot, following the captain in a slow pace.

* * *

She joined all the Stormcloaks around the block. They all held their heads high, despite knowing their heads will be rolling on the cobbles underneath in a few minutes.

"Ulfric. Stormcloak."

General Tullius was standing tall and proud, with his hands on his back, a smug look on his face. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric Stormcloak looked at General Tullius with hate. He tried saying something but his words were muffled by the gag.

Unfazed, the general kept talking but he was becoming angrier. "You started this war! You plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now, the Empire is going to put you down and restore peace!"

As if it was the echo of General's words, a blood chilling roar was heard as soon as Tullius shut his mouth.

"What was that?" the captain asked, looking around, searching for the source of the sound.

General Tullius was growing impatient. "It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The captain saluted the general and motioned for the priestess clad in dark yellow robes. "Give them their last rites."

The woman nodded, and raised her hands. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines-"

A red-haired Stormcloak jumped forward, frowning. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" he shouted, angry.

The priestess sighed and nodded. "As you wish."

The red-haired man walked towards the block and shouted. "Come on, I haven't got all morning!"

He was roughly pushed on the block by the captain. He turned his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials! Can you say the same?"

The executioner downed his axe on the exposed neck of the red-haired man. It was over as soon as it started; blood spurted out of his cleaved neck and his head slowly fell into the basket.

The captain kicked the lifeless body of the soldier aside, the corpse landed on the dirt ground with a thud.

"You Imperial bastards!" cried a female Stormcloak nearby.

"Justice!" screamed someone behind her.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!" another yelled.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof commented sadly,looking at the ground.

The captain turned the her and screamed. "Next, the Nord woman in rags!"

Her stomach dropped, she was going to die. She was going to die this young as a prisoner, for no reason.

As soon as her name was called, she heard another roar; this time it was clearer, indicating that the source was closer than last time.

"There it is again." the Nord Imperial with the list said, scanning his surroundings. "Did you hear that?"

The captain growled. "I said next prisoner!"

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy," said the Nord Imperial, his voice soft.

She walked to the block, her head held high. When she stopped in front of it, she was roughly kicked on the wooden block, possible bruising her cheek in the process.

It wasn't important though.

She was going to die in a few seconds.

She looked at the tower behind the executioner, a dreamy look in her eyes. She was saying her final prayers as the executioner slowly lifted his axe.

The roar was heard again and Iona gasped when she looked behind the executioner. There, just behind the tower was a black _dragon_?

"What in Oblivion is that?" Tullius cried, in shock.

"Sentries! What do you see?" asked the captain, scanning the air.

"It's in the town! " somebody screamed as the dragon digged it's claws on the tower. The executioner stumbled forward and fell down with the force of the impact.

Iona slowly lifted her head off of the block, her eyes never leaving the dragon that was watching her closely.

The dragon roared once more, the unearthly voice shaking the ground.  
Its huge body and black scales brought darkness to the execution area, blocking the sun.

All the Imperial soldiers unsheathed their weapons, getting ready to attack the giant lizard. Higher-ups were giving orders to the soldiers, some taking townsfolk to safety.

The dragon opened its maw, showing its sword-like teeth. It let out a shout towards the archers that were attacking, all the soldiers were strewn around; some hitting the cobblestone path, some hitting nearby buildings.

War cries and cries of pain were the only things she heard as she ran towards Ralof, who motioned her to come. "Gods won't give us another chance, kinswoman. Let's get going."

* * *

Running, Ralof took her to a stone building. She was exhausted and sore. As they walked in, she noticed several lifeless bodies on the floor, two of them were wearing Stormcloak curriasses.

Ralof walked to the two corpses lying on the floor, holding his amulet of Talos. He crouched near them, fully closing their eyes and mumbling prayers. "We'll meet in Sovngarde, brother and sister."  
He stood up slowly, motioning the bodies on the floor. "Take her armor and weapons, she won't be needing them anymore," he whispered.

He turned his back to her, so she could dress up. When she was done, she nudged him on the shoulder.

Ralof turned back to her, the ground was trembling beneath their feet. They still could hear the cries of people and shouts of the dragon.

He held her hands, squeezing slightly. "You need to get to Riverwood. Find my sister Gerdur there and give her this," he put a piece of parchment in her right hand. "She will help you to become better, and will probably give you a job so you can get some coin. When you find the cave exit, follow the dirt road, it will take you directly to Riverwood. We'll part now, but if I can help my kinsmen, I'm sure we'll see each other in the future."

She nodded, thanking him and wishing him luck. He smiled slightly and unsheathed his sword, exiting the door to join his brothers.

As he exit the door, Iona stretched as much as her bruises and injuries would allow. Her 'new life' definitely started in a very unexpected way."

"Riverwood it is, then."


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: I didn't expect updating this story this fast, I'm surprising myself! Reviews are appreciated, enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my Dovahkiin Iona Silver-Fang. Everything else belongs to Bethesda.

* * *

"I couldn't be more grateful to you and your husband, Gerdur; but I really have to go. I already tired you guys too much."

"Are you crazy, girl? My little brother got out of that hell hole safe, and you brought us news about him. Helping you recover was the least I could do!"

Iona smiled at the woman for her kindness. She still hadn't recovered fully but she was good enough to walk to Whiterun. There were urgent affairs she had to take care of.

Like talking to the Jarl of Whiterun about the dragon in Helgen.

She still couldn't believe she made it out of Helgen alive. When she arrived to Riverwood, she had been trembling with fear and fatigue. She still could smell the burning flesh, still could hear the screams of dying people; they were the source of her nightmares when she twisted and turned in her sleep with a fever.

She collapsed just near the gates of Riverwood; thanks to the note she held close, the guards alerted Gerdur of her arrival. She didn't remember anything about her first three days there, just foggy illusions and nightmares. When she fully woke up on the fourth day of her stay, she found herself wrapped in furs on a soft bed. Her wounds had been treated and she was a lot cleaner than she remembered.

During her stay, Gerdur made sure she was comfortable. Even if Iona tried helping her and her husband Hod around the mill, she refused. Iona was a restless person, she wasn't used to sit around so she passed her time playing with Frodnar, Gerdur's son.

She was fully capable of walking around without her knees wobbling or her head spinning in seven days. She already spent too much time with Gerdur and her family so she didn't want to disturb them more than she already had.

Gerdur offered Iona to take whatever she needed in order to survive by herself. She also gave Iona some coins so she could buy the stuff she needed, but Iona really didn't need anything since Gerdur packed all she could fit in her satchel; plenty of food, nord mead, a waterskin, an iron dagger, some clothes, potions and lastly some ingredients for both cooking and doing alchemy.

Hugging Gerdur, Hod and Frodnar for their help and saying goodbye, she shouldered her satchel, long bow and arrows. Taking her hide shield and iron war axe, she waved goodbye to the hospitable family.

* * *

After all that lying around in the comfortable weather of Riverwood, Iona already felt cold. Her modified Stormcloak cuirass didn't help at all too.

Gerdur has told her to modify the cuirass if she were to continue wearing it since it had some destroyed parts and Stormcloaks were a sensitive subject, especially in Whiterun. So Iona removed the chainmail sleeves and the blue fabric wrapped around the leather tunic. The leather belts around the leather tunic were already torn off. She wore a shortened simple green dress in the leather tunic to keep her warm. Her calves and forearms were covered by fur boots and gauntlets.  
She also had a hooded cloak in her satchel that Gerdur stuffed in.

Already feeling exhausted, she sat beside the river. She planned walking to Whiterun by following the river so her walk could be easier, even if it made her route longer.

Kneeling, she brought some water to her mouth with her hands. The water was cold, pure, and made her hum in delight while gliding through her dry throat. Cyrodiil didn't have such beautiful rivers.

Cyrodiil. Thabita. Malik'r. Bjorn. Endryn.

Her little family that she left behind, that she _had to_ leave behind. She felt nauseous so she lied down on the grass. It wasn't her fault that they all died, was it? The newest member of their little family, Ardaline did it. She was a traitor. How could they know?

Sitting up, Iona watched her reflection on the water. With her blood red war paint gone and her almost white platinum hair down on her shoulders, she looked different. Sighing, Iona put the short cut hairs on her back in a ponytail.

Happy with the result, she got up and continued walking to Whiterun. She had work to do after all.

* * *

The stitched wound on her right leg was throbbing by the time she arrived near the farms in the outskirts of Whiterun. She was tired but seeing the old walls of Whiterun made her smile. As she was concentrated on the path ahead her, she didn't hear the loud footsteps behind her.

An angry giant approached her, club raised above his head, getting ready to strike.

Iona screamed when the club hit on the dirt near her, startled. The giant was alone, his mammoth probably had been killed and now its owner was angry, seeking revenge.

She ran a fast as her legs would carry her, but unfortunately the giant was pretty fast for its size. Unsheathing her iron war axe and holding her hide shield close, she watched the giant move. If the club were to hit her with full force, she surely would die.

Letting out a war cry, she ran towards the giant, using her smaller size to her advantage. Swinging her war axe, she brought it down on the right knee of the giant. The cut started bleeding, but the giant was unfazed by it, if not more angry. It quickly brought down its club on her, not wasting time to hit her better by charging.

She yelped in terror when the club collided with her shield, breaking it in half. After recovering from the shock of the hit and drawing back, she felt a strong pain on her left shoulder and let out a sickening scream.

Looking at her left shoulder, she saw the bones poking her skin, her arm limp at her side. She had fractured and dislocated her shoulder.

Her eyes wide in pain and her mouth open with a silent scream, she fell on the ground feeling nauseous and feverish.

The giant, seeing her on the floor, started approaching slowly.

Tears streaming down her face and screaming in anguish, she tried getting up but her violent trembling prevented her from doing so. Digging her nails in the dirt, she crawled back. When comfortable with the distance, she turned back to the giant, clutching her war axe tightly. Her vision was blurring and she was heaving now, but she wouldn't go down without a fight like a coward. She would fight before dying so she could join her loved ones in afterlife.

When the giant approached enough, she sliced its left ankle with her axe multiple times before letting out another blood curdling scream.

Waiting for the final blow, her vision started to darken and she got cold, really cold. But the blow that would've ended her never came.

Instead, she saw several pairs of feet in front of her before losing consciousness.

* * *

She didn't know how long she slept. She woke up several times, but only remembered of screaming in pain and agony; everything else was in haze. She saw her small family of survivors, her shield siblings that were long gone in her nightmares. She saw the beast that took many lives on her execution day, sparing hers. Most disturbingly, she saw her actual family, her parents; and it hurt more than any possible physical wound.

* * *

Everything was too bright. The light seeping through her eyelids disturbed her, forming a headache. With her whole body already aching, she wanted to die there. She had to die anyways. She would've died with her shield siblings that day if she hadn't stormed off like an idiot.

Feeling as if a dagger stabbed her brain, she tried groaning but it was futile. Her dry throat felt as if it would rip with the attempted moan.

Mustering her strength, she opened her eyes, hissing in pain. A woman in robes was at her side, holding a tankard. Holding her behind the neck, she slowly lifted Iona's head and helped her drink the water in the tankard.

"Hush, child. Hard times have passed, you are a lot better now, and you'll be even better in time. Patience."

She slowly laid Iona's head back on the altar, caressing her hair slowly and humming a soothing melody.

Iona felt content and tranquil after a long time despite her aching body. She missed not thinking about anything and simply lying down, she never had time to clear her head like this. The place she was in had a peaceful aura; it was bright inside but not disturbing since the source of light was the sun. She could smell a light flowery incense burning and it made her feel even light-headed. As her eyelids were fluttering closed, the front door of the temple was slammed open.

The headache returned with full force. The intruder of the peaceful place was a man with ear length hair, wearing a heavy armor. He was tall and somewhat built. She couldn't make out any details with the hammer pounding her brain.

The woman sitting near her sprang to her feet, hissing angrily. "Vilkas! You know that this is a temple for the sick and wounded, you shouldn't barge in like that. Have some respect for the people lying here if not for Kynareth , boy!"

The man was unfazed by the woman, a priestess as she guessed. He walked near the altar Iona was lying on and mumbled. "I'm really sorry for barging in like that, Danica. I was angry about something."

Sighing, the priestess placed her hand on the man's shoulder. "What is it that troubles your mind, child?"

"It's Kodlak. He wouldn't leave this strange woman here. He even sent me to check her instead of one of the whelps! I'm a warrior, not a baby sitter!" angry, he leaned down to see Iona's icy blue eyes staring into his. "Oh, she's awake."

"Yes, she is and she needs to rest. She's been out for a week. Poor child, her mind is as troubled as her body. Her physical wounds are healing quickly, but I can't say the same for the inner ones."

Iona stared in Vilkas' eyes, unblinking and started noticing the details of his face; eyes as icy blue as hers, clean hair, a faint stubble on his cheeks and chin. His brows were knitted in anger and a slight pout has formed on his mouth.

"Kodlak wants to see her as soon as possible. When will she be good enough to leave?"

Why would someone want to see her as soon as possible? She didn't do anything bad, and she already had stuff to take care of. Also, she wanted to be _alone_, to do some thinking. Iona was struggling in her mind, she didn't want to meet new people. She would hurt them, she knew it. That was what she always did to her loved ones. Hurting them, and ending up hurting herself once again. She couldn't take another blow to the heart, another great loss would break her beyond repair.

She just wanted to be alone, why was it so impossible?

Iona wanted to protest, but she didn't have the strength. Her eyelids were getting heavy once more.

The priestess looked at Iona in deep thought. "She will be good enough to leave in three days at most. She's healing quickly, but she needs to rest as much as she can."

Nodding, Vilkas muttered a thanks and walked towards the door. Throwing a final look at Iona with his eyes narrowed, he slowly slipped through the door as silently as his armor let him.

When the door closed with a faint click, Danica caressed Iona's hair for one last time. "Sleep now, child."

Danica didn't have to tell her twice, Iona was fast asleep when Danica stopped caressing her hair; she had slipped into a deep, dreamless slumber.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Nothing to say other than pointing out that this is the longest chapter yet. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my Dovahkiin Iona Silver-Fang. Everything else belongs to Bethesda.

* * *

She was alone in the room, naked. Her wounds and bruises from Helgen had healed, some leaving faint scars. She already had plenty, most visible ones were three pink and long lines on her left cheek, left by an angry bear in her teenage years. Her left shoulder, however, looked as if someone painted it in different shades of grey, green, yellow and purple. Small purple bruises were scattered around her whole body, but the mere sight of bruises on her left shoulder made her cringe.

Fortunately, she could move her left shoulder easily, Danica did a good job healing it. Iona still had to be careful not to strain or stretch it too much, meaning she won't be able to use her shield effectively.

She didn't have a shield anymore anyway.

Watching her naked figure in the mirror, she saw her ribs poking out. Just like any Nord woman, she had a curvy figure, but only below chest. Even though she was a pureblood Nord woman, her breast were perky and small. She was muscular, but her lean muscles were covered with a thin layer of fat, giving her a more feminine figure. Her wide shoulders were slumped since standing straight hurt her left shoulder.

Touching her belly, she stroked her ribs. She was hungry, hungry for a real Nord meal. Like medium cooked venison with tankards of nord mead. Her mouth watered, but she unfortunately had stuff to do. First, she had to visit the man named Kodlak at Jorrvaskr. Then, she had to inform the Jarl of Whiterun about the dragon.

Huffing, she started getting dressed. Her modified Stormcloak cuirass had been mended. Her satchel, bow, arrows and war axe were waiting for her on the bed.

Her sleeveless leather tunic and short dress exposed the bruises on her shoulder. Covering them with bandages would limit her movements even further, so she let them be.

After dressing up, she tried tying the shorter locks on her front into a ponytail, but lifting her left arm that high hurt her, she hissed in pain and frustration. Frustrated, she brushed the hairs on her face back multiple times but it didn't even take 5 seconds for them to return.

Iona was beyond pissed now. Just as she was considering to rip her hair and smash the mirror in little pieces, Danica peered inside through the half open door. "I came to ask if you needed any help, but I believe you're ready to go already!"

"Um, actually, can you please tie my hair back, Danica? I can't lift my left arm enough to do so," muttered Iona, pleading. She really did hate it when her hair got in the way.

"Oh dear, it was foolish of you to even try doing that. Come here," said Danica, motioning the taller woman to sit down.

Giving the leather strip to Danica, Iona sat down on the chair. Annoying platinum locks were pulled back from her face and tied behind her head tightly.

Smiling in satisfaction, Danica took Iona to the door, telling her what to do and not to do for her shoulder to heal nicely.

Thanking, Iona opened the door. Just as she took one step, Danica called her name. Stopping, she looked back at the older woman in confusion.

"Stop blaming yourself for the things that happened in the past. I can sense wounds in your heart, they are ripping you apart. You can't change the past, but you have the chance to change the future; so don't spend today in the sad memories of the past," said Danica with a small smile of understanding.

Speechless, Iona nodded and turned back in order to get to Jorrvaskr, trying her best not to think about things Danica said.

* * *

Iona climbed the steps, examining the huge building. It had an interesting shape, reminding her of an overturned ship. The building was long, probably a single-story one.

Hesitating, she opened the door, only to be greeted by shouts and cheers.

"Did you really think you could beat me with those toothpick arms?!"

"You may have the muscles of a man, but you're slow!"

A crack echoed through the hall, followed by a pained cry.

"You bitch, you... You broke my nose!"

The person who said this was a male Dunmer, a slender man with lean muscles. He was lying on the floor, one hand covering his nose, blood seeping through his fingers. The woman standing in front of him was obviously a Nord; tall, well built and curvy. She was still angry, but the Dunmer lying in front of her was more than angry; he was pissed.

With a war cry, the Dunmer jumped on the woman, bringing her down. They were rolling on the floor, trying to punch each other. With a few successful punches, the Dunmer split open the Nords lip.

People who had been cheering tried prying them apart, but the two were really angry at each other. The Nord man that visited Danica about her at the Temple of Kynareth was holding the Nord woman. He was different than she remembered; his hair was longer, he was a lot more built and taller. On the other side, a blond Nord man with a beard was holding the Dunmer. Both the Dunmer and the Nord woman were trying to get free and lunge at each other, they cursed each other and their captors.

Another Nord woman who had been cheering the fight sobered up and stepped between the trapped couple. "Athis, Njada, don't you think it's enough already? I don't want to lose both of you for a stupid brawl. Also, we have a guest that we have to greet properly."

Suddenly, everybody stopped talking and looked at Iona. She averted her gaze to the ground shyly, blood rushing to her pale cheeks. She felt self conscious, all those pairs of eyes examining her was disturbing.

"Is she the woman who'd been fighting the giant?" asked the dark haired Nord. Weird. He already visited her at the Temple of Kynareth. Was she looking that different after healing and washing up?

"Of course she is, icebrain," said the Nord woman with chestnut colored hair, approaching her. Crossing her arms, she stopped in front of Iona. "I'm Aela the Huntress, a member of the Companions. Have you ever heard of our legendary group of honorable warriors?"

Iona swallowed and shook her head. "You must be new to Skyrim then, even though you're a Nord. Everybody in Skyrim knows who Companions are," said Aela, a calculating look in her olive green eyes. "We found you unconscious near the giant we were supposed to kill, you were in a pretty bad condition so we took you to Danica. You look well enough now, maybe you could tell us who you are."

"I'm Iona Silver-Fang. A simple merchant from Morrowind. I had been looking for new places to trade with as my father wished, I can fight as well. I was attacked by that giant on my way to Whiterun," swallowing, she looked at Aela, praying to any divine that came to her mind, she would believe her lies.

Not truly convinced, Aela motioned her armor and weapons. "And what is a merchant doing with a cuirass and weapons like these? Can you even use those weapons efficiently?"

Annoyed, Iona threw her a dirty look. "Of course I can. My father knew my passion to fight, he used to be a warrior himself, so he taught me all he could. I don't have to prove my strength to you, anyway."

The other people watching the scene sucked in their breaths. A stranger, condescending Aela the Huntress?

Surprisingly, Aela started laughing, heartily. Her laugh echoed in the halls of Jorrvaskr, tears of joy gathered in her eyes. Iona was frustrated, and somewhat scared. Was she making fun of her? Or maybe she would attack her after she stopped laughing? There was nothing to laugh, why was she laughing?!

"I liked your guts, girl. Let me take you to Kodlak, he had been waiting you for a while now, we shouldn't keep the old man waiting anymore."

* * *

"...but I still hear the call of the blood."

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

"Leave that to me."

Clearing her throat, Aela entered the room with Iona walking slowly behind her. "She's here Kodlak. Vilkas, want to join me outside?"

Oh, Vilkas. He was the one who visited Iona at the Temple of Kynareth. The other guy with a much more muscular body and longer hair was probably Vilkas' brother. He looked just as she remembered him, he was frowning at her, with a threatening look in his cold, narrowed eyes. He was clearly annoyed by her presence.

"Thanks for the offer, shield-sister, but I think I'll stay here _just a bit_ longer," said Vilkas, watching Iona closely. She was averting her eyes from his sharp gaze, obviously disturbed by him, good. She should learn her place if Kodlak really were to ask her about joining the Companions.

Aela glowered at Vilkas, who snickered at her in return. When Aela got out, Kodlak extended his hand at Iona. "Hello lass. Good to see you're awake and well. I'm Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the Companions. And you are..?"

Iona didn't even hesitate, she held Kodlak's hand, shaking. "I'm Iona Silver-Fang from Morrowind. I'm here in Skyrim in order to get some job done for my father, who is a merchant."

"Oh Morrowind, eh? Tell me, when did you come to Skyrim?"

Taken aback by the question, Iona replied. "Um, about two weeks ago, I guess."

"I see," Kodlak's thoughts were impossible to read, but she knew he was suspicious, and it made her feel uneasy.

Vilkas, on the other hand, watched her closely, examining her. She was obviously a Nord, with platinum blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin but she was shorter than common Nord women. Her chest was also smaller than any Nord woman he'd seen, even though she was curvaceous and not skinny. She had a pretty face; with full lips, sharp eyes and high cheekbones. Again, unlike Nord women, she had an innocent look but it was partly hidden under her scarred face and troubled eyes. Her body was muscular, she had the body of a Nord warrior and he was able to notice a few scars apart from the three angry lines on her left cheek.

She was lying. There was no way the daughter of a simple merchant could be this scarred and built. She also used a war axe and a hide shield, using those weapons in combat required real skill and knowledge. Vilkas laughed inwardly, even Farkas was a better liar than her.

Kodlak nodded at her answer. "Anyway, I'll keep this short, young woman. I believe you're a skilled warrior, I'm sure you had to deal with the wilderness of Skyrim, maybe even with bandits on your way. So, why don't you show us your skill?"

Dumbfounded, Iona looked a the old man, waiting for whatever to come from his mouth next.

"Let's go up to the training grounds, shall we?"

The two man stood up and started walking towards the stairs with Iona in tow.

* * *

Seeing the new pretty face with Vilkas and Kodlak, everybody in the mead hall followed the trio to the training grounds.

When outside, Kodlak crossed his arms on his chest. "Well, our guest here will show us her talents," Turning to Iona he motioned Vilkas. "I want you to brawl with Vilkas. Prove us that you're a true Nord, neither he or I will take no as an answer! Prove me that you're worthy of our group, of the Companions!"

The old man probably was laughing at her shocked face. He was kidding, right? She didn't say anything about wanting to join the Companions. What the hell was going on?

Vilkas took his gauntlets and chest plate off, he wore a thin woven sleeveless shirt underneath the heavy armor.

"How long will I have to wait for you to show me your fists like any real Nord would, milk drinker?

The blond Nord she saw earlier burst out laughing, with Aela joining him. Fuming, she took off her gauntlets and leather tunic, putting them near her weapons on a table. She was only clad in her short dress, fur boots and thin pants she put on this morning, thankfully.

She probably should've said no to this brawl, but the painkillers she took earlier were still intact, her shoulder wouldn't be causing any trouble during the brawl.

She walked in front of Vilkas as spectating companions started shouting and cheering.

It was Vilkas who did the first move. He lunged at her, right fist raised high in the air. Using her height to her advantage, Iona dodged the blow easily and landed a punch on Vilkas' stomach.

She knew she hit a right spot when Vilkas doubled over, air knocked out of him, coughing. Seeing the opening, she charged to him, hoping to punch his cheek but he suddenly stretched out his arm, his fist coming in contact with her throat, sending her on the dirt floor.

She couldn't breathe momentarily, her vision blurred and darkened. Coughing, she tried to catch her breath and stand up. Cursing, she sat up, still having difficulty to breathe. When she lifted her head, she saw Vilkas leaning on her for a final blow. Shrieking, she threw herself back, rolled on her shoulders, threw her feet back from her right shoulder and stood up.

Vilkas obviously didn't expect that but it didn't take long for him to come back to his senses and attack once more.

She stood straight as he ran to her with a war cry. She squatted just before his fist collided with her cheek, but he was smart.

He didn't fall for her little trap. He already saw through her plan, instead of losing his footing and falling, he hugged her.

They both fell on the ground with a thud, Iona struggling to breathe under the much heavier man.

Struggling, she tried pushing him off of her; but when she lifted her head, she saw him propped on his forearms on her chest, smirking at her. Her futile attempts to free herself amused him greatly.

She felt her cheeks burn with embarassment. Pushing his chest once more, she huffed. "Finish this already, will you? I have more important things to do!"

Vilkas simply raised a thick, black brow at her. He almost wanted to say she looked cute lying on the ground under him; angry, cheeks red, lips pouted and hair sprawled on the dirt. Of course, he didn't say any of this out loud. She could have a pretty face, but she was a liar, and Vilkas saw her as a threat. He would do "anything" he could to learn the truth about her.

Since Vilkas had no intention of letting her go, she turned to Kodlak, a pleading look on her face. Smiling softly, Kodlak motioned Vilkas to stand up.

Obeying his Harbinger's wish, Vilkas stood up and dusted himself. Iona stood up after him, throwing a death glare to Vilkas. Unfazed by her threatening look, he turned around.

_Never turn your back to enemy._

Stupid mistake. Considering it was made by a companion, it was even worse, almost humiliating. As soon as he took a step towards Jorrvaskr, a war cry was heard. Before he could react, Iona was latched to his back, legs tightly wrapped around his hips. She tugged at his hair to pull him down. While shouting expletives and trying to grab the Nord woman behind him, he lost his footing. Iona expected this, so she let him go as soon as he started falling and jumped on his chest instead.

Aela was rolling on the floor, laughing with tears in her eyes. Athis and Njada tried to stifle their laughter, since their wounds and Athis' broken nose were treated but still hurt. Farkas was torn between wanting to help his brother and to mock him for being brought down by a merchant woman. Kodlak was smiling as well, but his thoughts were a lot different than what his façade showed. He already suspected that she may have been lying about her identity, but now he was sure. He knew that she wasn't a wanted criminal, he would've recognized her if she was one. She had been in Skyrim for a while, or she was a trespasser since all borders of Skyrim were closed to everyone but important politicians because of the Civil War. He knew for sure that she wasn't a simple merchant who could use her war axe and shield to protect herself. He knew she was hiding her identity but confronting her about it wouldn't do any good, she probably would flee, but he wanted her to stay.

_As a Companion._

Confronting her wasn't even an option, so the only option left was to gain her trust. Even though she was lying to him and being very unsuccessful at it too, he trusted her instinctively. He didn't know why, but he was sure that she would make a fine and trustworthy companion with enough training.

* * *

Straddling his hips, Iona punched Vilkas' cheek once, slowly but powerful enough to leave a small bruise. Seeing Vilkas' stunned expression, she crossed her arms and looked at him with a triumphant smile.

Farkas approached to the pair on ground. As the brother of the loser, he though that he should be first to congratulate the winner. When he stopped near the duo, Vilkas suddenly regained his senses at the sight of his brother.

"You cheater! You cheated! This was a brawl with fists!" he shouted, with a slight growl. Iona flinched but she held her ground. He was the first to pull a dirty trick! "How can you even call yourself a Nord with such dishonorable behavior?"

Seeing something flash in her eyes, he knew that he struck a nerve. Oh how Vilkas loved disturbing and intimidating people simply with his tongue. Smirking, he pushed her as far as he could with his venom coated words. "Didn't your precious father teach you how to deal with sharp words, girl? Whatever, even considering you can actually do an honorable job like trading is funny," he lifted himself to a seated position with one swift move. He was so close to her face now and he could smell her fear and her sadness. Her scent, a mixture of honey, leather and sweat, was now combined with her terror, anguish and shame.

She smelled delicious, and he wanted to smell more of her despair.

"What are you girl, a thief? An assassin? Or maybe a deserter who abandoned everyone around her just to save herself, huh?"

That was it.

A single tear made its way down her left cheek, passing her scars. She wanted to run, to scream, to cry until she had no tears left.

But she was powerful and nothing could change that. Even words like a sharp dagger piercing her heart were ineffective. Wiping the single tear on her cheek furiously, she looked at Vilkas in the eye. Her eyes were hard, and her icy blue eyes looked even more cold at that moment. Before Vilkas could understand what was going on, Iona slapped her; hard enough to send his head to the side. His eyes widened with surprise, but before he could grasp what had just happened, she got up.

Kneeling in front of him, she got close to his face. Their faces weren't even an inch apart, her eyes were red with unshed tears when she whispered, with venom and disgust dripping from her words.

"I hate you."

She was gone in an instant. Taking her weapons and armor, she stormed off to the streets of Whiterun. Even Kodlak was too stunned to react, but he knew that this may be the last time they saw her.

* * *

She ran in the streets of Whiterun, hitting several people on her way, but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was to leave this place and the people in it. How foolish of her to think she could get close to the people in Jorrvaskr! Even if she refused to admit, she knew that Vilkas was right. She wasn't an honorable Nord, she never had been one with the constant mistakes she made. The Companions, however, were all mighty and honorable warriors. They always brought pride and victory to themselves with every completed mission. Iona, on the other hand, was a disgrace to her kin. She ran away, leaving everyone behind; and she did this more than once.

She was so close to leave the past behind her. She really was, but apparently her haunted past would never leave her alone.

She exit Whiterun without looking back.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter is very late, and I'm very sorry but I struggled a lot while writing this. It sucks and I hate it, but hopefully next chapter will be a lot better.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my Dovahkiin Iona Silver-Fang. Everything else belongs to Bethesda.

* * *

Growing up in the Leyawiin County of Cyrodiil, Iona had the chance to visit Elsweyr many times. Its native population consisted of Khajiit, one of the beast races of Tamriel. These cat men lived in lush jungles of south, or dry badlands of north. They lived their lives traditionally in small villages. Khajiit were very hospitable and nice, even if many people saw them as drug dealers and dirty cuisine was based on moon sugar so their plates were sweet, and usually had a bad effect on outsiders. But Iona was no outsider to their culture, people or cuisine; so she became unbelievably happy when she saw a Khajiit caravan just outside the walls of Whiterun.

The caravan leader's eyes widened in surprise when a Nord sat in front of him with her legs crossed. Bowing her head with respect, she held out her hand. "I'm Iona Silver-Fang. Pleased to meet you."

Surprised at the friendliness of the Nord sitting before him, he shook her hand. "I'm Ri'saad, the leader of this caravan," pausing, he narrowed his eyes with curiosity."It's pretty unusual for a Nord warrior to come visit me, let alone acknowledge me; so I must tell you how curious I am about your purpose of visit."

Smiling softly, Iona nodded. "I may be a Nord, but my family moved to Leyawiin after my father became a veteran, so I grew up there," she said, her heart aching with nostalgia. "He took me to Elsweyr sometimes, to teach me how to fight and how to survive."

"Yesss, our lands are harsh for outsiders, just like Skyrim for us Khajiit," said Ri'saad knowingly. "Why are you back in Skyrim though, girl? Did you not like the comfortable lifestyle of Cyrodiil?"

"Cyrodiil isn't easy to live in if you are a Nord with all these conflicts going on," she snorted, unamused. "A few years before the Stormcloak Rebellion, Nords have already started to express their discontentment. We were not allowed to worship our god, and Thalmor agents were breathing down our necks. We Nords of Leyawiin were thrown out of the walls of the county and we had to pay ridiculous taxes,"

Ri'saad's ears twitched in interest. "Leyawiin is still ruled by the Caro family, isn't it?"

"Yes, tradition addicted stupid Imperials. Their imperialization laws got stricter with the ban of Talos worship. Then came Thalmor with their sneaky agents, and we found ourselves thrown out of our homes."

"I understand how you feel. Look at us, we are not allowed in cities just because we are Khajiit. We mean no harm to anyone, we just want to earn a few septims in a fair way."

"Life itself isn't fair though," said Iona softly. Ri'saad looked at her, his eyes soft. "What did you do when were thrown out of the city then?" he asked, trying to lighten the conversation. He didn't want to get emotional, and he was sure neither did the girl sitting in front of her.

He understood that he was mistaken and that he tore open a deep wound in her heart with his question. Her eyes became glazed by unshed tears, her cheeks and nose reddening with frustration. Her hands were closed tightly on her lap and he could see her tremble lightly.

Regretting what he asked and feeling guilty, Ri'saad didn't know what to do. He felt sorry for the girl, she was such a nice person too. It was the first time a Nord sat with him to chat. Looking at her nervously, he did the first thing that came to his mind.

_He pulled her head to the crook of his neck, with a hand caressing her hair._

That was it. She started sobbing as soon as her face touched the soft fur of his neck. She obviously had been holding it for a long time now.

Ignoring the questioning looks of his companions, he held the young woman until her muffled sobs died down.

When Iona's muffled sobs and hiccups came to a halt, she pulled back and rubbed her tear stained cheeks with the back of her hands. Ri'saad looked at her with concern, but Iona smiled a genuine smile at him. She'd been wanting to cry for a long time, and now that she did, a great weight had been lifted from her heart. All the frustration of earlier weeks and the events of that day left her when she cried; she actually felt relaxed and peaceful for the first time in a long while.

Ri'saad was glad he could comfort the girl, even though he knew his question wasn't the real reason of her tears, he still felt a bit guilty. The genuine smile she threw his way made him feel better.

"Are you hungry, hm? We can offer you some of our finest meals, not the best since we lack some ingredients but I'm sure you missed our unique cuisine, no?" asked Ri'saad, standing up and walking towards the cooking spit in the middle of the camp.

Iona sat up as well, her legs trembling in protest. It had been a while since she last sat cross legged this long. Rubbing her thighs, she joined Ri'saad near the cooking spit.

A female Khajiit, clad in a simple white dress, an orangish red overdress and a worn brown leather corset was stirring the sweet smelling soup in the cooking pot.

"Can we serve our guest some fruit bread, Atahbah?" asked Ri'saad, putting his clawed hand on Atahbah's back. She turned his attention to him and motioned her tent. "This one believes we still have some left, check the smallest sack in her tent," she said and focused on the soup once more. "Pardon our poor meal, but it's very hard to find the right ingredients here in Skyrim to cook meals of our homeland. We try to imitate them the best we can, but it never tastes as good. This one believes you tasted our food before?"

Iona approached her and smiled. "Yes, I have. I liked it a lot too. I never would've imagined that I could taste Elsweyr cuisine here in Skyrim after all those years."

Atahbah laughed heartily. "A Nord coming to her homeland after all those years and eating sweet breads and fondues instead of rare cooked venison. You must be disappointed, if this one were to go back to her beautiful homeland, she would lie under the warm sun all day and eat fresh fruits," said Atahbah, sighing. "This one really does miss her home, surviving in the cold climate of Skyrim is hard. Especially when..." sighing once more, she looked at Iona. "Especially when you're an outcast hated by the majority."

Being an outcast. Iona had experienced that herself; but Atahbah, Ri'saad and all other Khajiit who didn't live in their homeland were probably discriminated worse than she ever could've been.

* * *

Watching the sparks of the lit fire and listening to Atahbah's stirring, she felt nostalgic again. Her friends, her friends that _she betrayed_ had been her second family. She couldn't stop the murder of her parents, it was too late when she found them lying in their small cabin. Everything precious they owned had been stolen and her parents had been brutally murdered, she still could remember the half lidded eyes of her dead mother; lifeless, yet staring in her soul and blaming her.

She had cried for days in the cabin near her parents' corpses. She was 15 years old at that time, and she already was a promising warrior. Her father had been proud of her courage and power; her mother, on the other hand, had been concerned about her safety and always joked that she'll never find a husband if she turned more barbaric.

Crossing her arms, she smiled sadly. After all those days spent in the haunted cabin like a ghost, she had buried her parents properly and pried the Nine Divines for their well being in Sovngarde. Packing up, she left her home to never see it again.

After days of hiking in the green grassy lands of Cyrodiil, she had found a small cabin. The cabin had been deserted and days of restless traveling with an empty stomach tired her greatly, so she lied on the bed for a quick nap.

Her quick nap had turned into a deep sleep; because when she woke up, she found herself tucked in a comfortable bed in a nicely decorated and warm room. When she sat up, she met the man who changed her life greatly.

"Young girls like you shouldn't sleep alone in cabins they find in the forest now, it's dangerous. So, what about joining us and having a safe place to sleep, young one?"

Malik'r. The person who was the head of their little family, the wise Redguard in his forties that invited her to join them with open arms.

Later on, she met with all the members of the family. Thabita, a lovely Bosmer woman that could become one with nature. She had teached Iona so much about nature and hunting. Bjorn, a fellow Nord with long hair and beard that are dark as the night, green eyes as vivid as emeralds. He had been a skillful warrior and he trained Iona to become a better warrior. Endryn, a Dunmer who could shoot anything out of his palms and rob a man naked without him noticing. He appeared cold and distant, but once she got under his skin, his company was relaxing and fun. He teached her a bit of magic, but his attempts of training her  
on thievery were futile; she had been too loud on her feet and too sloppy with her fingers. She still could remember him screaming furiously at her when she got caught stealing from a group of bandits. He had scolded her for days after saving her life.

She had grown up thanks to them, she became the powerful Nord woman her dad always wished her to be. Iona had been living the best days of her life, until Ardaline came.

Her innocent looks, so unusual for an Altmer, fooled them. They took her in, treated her wounds and showed her the ropes. Who could've known that she was a top ranking Thalmor spy on hunt for Talos worshippers and illegal operations in Cyrodiil?

_It was so sudden, so unexpected._

It all happened while they were travelling to north, to Skyrim, in order blend in with the raging Civil War going on. They were going to sneak in, since borders were closed due to inner conflict.

Everything had been going as planned until they took a break in the wilderness of Chorrol. As the least infamous member of the group, it was Iona's duty to visit the city and buy supplies.

When she returned to their camp a day later, she had found every single member of the group lying in their puddles of blood, dead. Only Malik'r had been alive when she found them, but it was too late to help him.

"I could've helped if I were here. I abandoned you. Thabita, Bjorn and Endryn could've been alive if I were here. YOU wouldn't be lying half dead on the ground if I were here!"

She still could remember the angry yet affectionate look on his face after her words. He had wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks with a trembling hand.

"Never... blame yourself like this... again. You didn't abandon us. It was... it was my fault, I should've been... more careful, as the leader. I *cough* was the one who... who failed you. I'm so sorry Iona. *cough* *cough* Don't cry... please."

Those had been his last words, his body slumped in her arms, his head falling to the side. Her father figure died in her hands, and she was alone once more.

Sobbing, she clenched her fists in his armor, tears flowing freely. She was broken once more, and this time, she was sure that she would never fully recover.

* * *

The gathered tears in her eyes were gone as soon as Ri'saad emerged out of the tent with a platter in his hand, his gleeful voice making her smile despite her aching heart.

"We still have some fruit bread left, you are a lucky one Nord!" he said cheerily. He set the platter down near the pit as Atahbah poured fondue in small bowls.

Everyone gathered around the pit to enjoy their delicious smelling meal.

"This, we call, is the Elsweyr fondue. It's a lot different than what we eat at home, but it's the closest thing we could create here in Skyrim," said Atahbah, showing Iona the bowl in her hand. "And this, is fruit bread. It's just like normal bread but a lot sweeter. Normally we make it with fresh fruits, but here in Skyrim we have to use dry fruits. This one is made with dried pineapple and mango." she added, motioning the tasty looking bread.

As soon as Atahbah was done talking, she dived into her meal, enjoying the lingering taste of mead and moon sugar in her mouth. The fondue wasn't enough to satiate her hunger, so she picked up a piece of fruit bread. As soon as she bit it, she moaned in delight. Pineapples were one of her favorite fruits, and it had been since she last ate one. Dried or fresh didn't matter as long as it was pineapple.

Ri'saad laughed at her, clearly amused by her lack of table manners. Iona simply shrugged and stuck her tongue at him, she was really hungry so she could devour her food in any way she wanted!

As soon as she was done with her meal, she thanked Atahbah for the amazing food she prepared.

"Now, it won't be a complete meal without something to wash it down, no?" said Ri'saad, going into his tent.

Iona watched him and she was more than pleased when he came out of the tent with a fine bottle of wine in his clawed hands.

"This, also is from Elsweyr. One of out finest wines. It'll be an honor to share it with a good friend." said Ri'saad, filling her goblet.

A Nord with alcohol was a happy Nord indeed.

As soon as she sipped the savory drink, she heard a roar in the distance. This roar was very familiar to her, in a bad way.

Ri'saad's ears twitched as he scanned their surroundings. There was nothing to be seen, but they still could hear the blood chilling roar in the distance. Suddenly, something huge flew over their heads, its shadow bringing darkness in its wake.

The creature roared again and this time, unfortunately, she was sure about what it was.

"**DRAGON**!" yelled a passing guard in shock and horror.

Memories of Helgen came back to her, along with guilt. She should've gone to the Jarl and warned him about the return of dragons instead of weeping about the past. Her selfish mistake endangered many lives.

As the huge creature landed near the stables, she knew she had to do all she could to somehow bring this creature down.

With the terrorized gaze of Ri'saad on her figure, she picked up her bow and strapped the quiver on her back. Sitting back in horror wasn't an option now. She had to help, unlike many times she had failed to do in the past.

She started sprinting towards the guards, picking an arrow from the quiver on her back. Her steps were confident, eyes focused on the target.

Placing the arrow and pulling the string, she aimed for the constantly moving and snapping dragon's eye. Just as she released the arrow and missed the creature's eye with a millimeter, her attention was drawn elsewhere.

"**IONA!**"


End file.
